The Furnace
by K. Cloak
Summary: [COMPLETE!] HBP AU. Severus Snape was once a Death Eater... and enjoyed it. By 1980, he was working for Dumbledore. Why did Severus turn away from Voldemort? And how? Featuring violence, madness, penitence, and much Severusangst.
1. Part 1/3

**Summary:** It's 1980, and Severus Snape is enjoying life as a Death Eater. Little does he know that the world of lies he lives in is about to come crashing down upon him. Told from Severus's POV. Featuring MentallyDisturbed!Snape.

  
  


**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

  
  


**Author notes: **This story is a prequel of sorts to my work in progress, "Up from the Dust." The plot to that story is not necessary to understand this one, but it should be known that I've created a wife for Severus named Juliette. This is on no way a romance between them: the marriage is a facade created to keep the both of them from Ministry scrutiny. If you like this, please review it! (and maybe Up From The Dust too?)

  
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


Part 1 of 3

_ore: [noun] 2. (Mining) A native metal or its compound with the rock in which it occurs, after it has been picked over to throw out what is worthless._

  
  


I sigh as I return the near-potion to a boil for the thirteenth time, watching as the billowing steam from the cauldron lightens to a lavender color, but doesn't turn the pure white needed to complete the brewing.

  
  


Damn. Cooling again, then, and adding another pinch of powdered Mandrake root. I really don't have time for this today...

  
  


Being one of the youngest potions masters in the country will get you a lot more work for a little more pay. I've heard it before and now I know if first-hand.

  
  


_Stupid Ministry. They take a brilliant, pure-blooded wizard like me and make me work in a blasted potions shop on Diagon Alley. I swear, when I'm done playing this little bastard-with-a-heart-of-gold role, I'm packing up my things and moving my shop to Knockturn Alley instead._

  
  


_Well, the Dark Lord will be finished with the fucking Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers soon. Once we've killed them all, I can stop holding up this damned facade and get to work on something_ challenging.

  
  


A knock on the door rouses me from my musings.

  
  


"What?"

  
  


"Let me in, Severus. I'd like to tell you about last night's festivities."

  
  


Of course. Lucius Malfoy loves to brag. He brags about killing people almost as much as he brags about how much money he has.

  
  


I reluctantly open the door and then set the cauldron to heat again, keeping it in the edge of my field of vision as I look disdainfully at Lucius.

  
  


"Did it ever occur to you that while some people can subsist on illegal activity alone, others actually need to work?"

  
  


Lucius is looking overdressed. His robes today are royal purple, with black ones underneath, and there is black and silver embroidery all over the damned things. His hair is slicked back, not a stray strand to be seen. He has a couple of rings on too.

  
  


In other words, he looks perfectly normal, for a Malfoy.

  
  


The potion starts to bubble as he begins his boastful recount of last night's murders. Three Aurors, torture, rape, Unforgivable curses... pretty boring, usual stuff. I' ve seen enough of these little Auror/Mudblood/Muggle exterminations. All the same. Personally, I find the rapes to be counterproductive, seeing that we are trying to exterminate the Muggles and not breed with them, but usually the victims are corpses a few hours later.

  
  


"And of course I used a bit of that poison you gave me a week ago, as well. The blue one."

  
  


Now _that_ gets my attention. Not turning from the cauldron, which is finally emitting white steam, I begin to add the final ingredients to make, of all things, a healing potion. I do, however, indulge in a nice smirk as he describes the results of what had been an experiment for me.

  
  


"...worked nicely. What was it?"

  
  


"An experimental reversal of the Skele-Gro potion, mixed with a Bleeding Draught." I turn off the heat under the finished potion and turn to look at Lucius. Oh, cool and collected I am usually, but I can't help smiling wickedly as he describes how the three people had just-

  
  


"Melted! It was truly disgusting, I must commend you for it. And of course they could have survived if you hadn' t caused the internal bleeding that finished them off. I think one of them was still trying to escape as her bones started dissolving. A classmate of ours! Adelaide Butler. Its really too bad, she would have made a fine assistant to you, Severus, if she hadn't been a filthy Mudblood."

  
  


Somewhere inside I feel a pang of guilt as I hear her name. Butler had been a year below me in Hogwarts, a Ravenclaw. She had been excellent at Potions.

  
  


I push away the fleeting feeling. If you allow one in, you'll allow more in. Purity doesn't work that way. We want a pure wizarding race, not one mixed with the blood of useless Muggles.

  
  


---

  
  


It's about six o'clock and I've just stepped out of a fireplace and into a shop on Knockturn alley with Lucius.

  
  


Oh, yes. I take advantage of him. He pays for my more... illicit potions ingredients. Such as unicorn blood, which is what I'm after today.

  
  


We' ve walked only a few feet, however, when a pain suddenly bursts into life on my left arm. Lucius and I have stopped short and, despite being trained not to show any pain, have both grabbed our left arms with our right hands. The only other inhabitant of the shop, the owner, has done the same. Wordlessly, we take out our wands and Apparate.

  
  


---

  
  


I stop for a moment in my small house, grab my robes and mask, and disappear again.

  
  


I reappear in a what looks to be a the ballroom of a ridiculously large house. The Muggle-type lights are all on, and I take notice of what most others miss: although we Apparated here within seconds of the call, my wife has beat us to the mark again. She stands fifteen feet from the Dark Lord, facing him.

  
  


I go to stand next to her, beginning to form a circle. She nods in my direction, then turns back to the Dark Lord. Lucius stands on my left, leaving a gap for the perpetually late Crabbe and Goyle.

  
  


A few minutes later and the circle is complete. Voldemort calls a young woman named Allendale to the center of the circle. They speak for a moment in hushed tones, and she gives him a small vial with several hairs inside. She returns to the circle.

  
  


Next called is Avery. He faces Voldemort for mere seconds before the Dark Lord hisses the Cruciatus Curse at him. I cringe, remembering the last time that happened to me.

  
  


Next is Goyle, then Malfoy. Crabbe is also given a dose of the Cruciatus and I wonder what job the blockhead bungled this time.

  
  


I feel the mark on my arm burn and walk to the center of the circle. I can't help worrying when I get to the center. Everyone does, after experiencing Voldemort's wrath for the first time. I kneel in front of him, then stand up for his orders.

  
  


"Severus Snape... I have two tasks for you tonight."

  
  


"Yes, My Lord."

  
  


He hands me the vial procured by Allendale.

  
  


"You will use the hairs in this vial to make a large supply of Polyjuice Potion. I expect it soon."

  
  


I know better than to ask to whom the hairs belong. I can always find out by testing the Polyjuice.

  
  


"And MacBride will be bringing a visitor to your home tonight. Find out everything he knows about the newest wards placed on the Ministry. Then kill him."

  
  


"Yes, My Lord."

  
  


"That is all. Return to your place."

  
  


Thank the gods. The last potion he told me to brew was so difficult I couldn't finish it on time. He'd cursed me long and hard for that.

  
  


I could brew Polyjuice in my sleep.

  
  


---

  
  


The meeting ends at eight and the majority of the circle begin Apparating home. Lucius asks if I'd like to go out Muggle-terrorizing. But I've got an assignment.

  
  


I Apparate home and take off my mask. Juliette isn' t back, which means I can steal a few moments of true relaxation before I have to kill whomever she brings back. I go to the tiny study near the kitchen and pull out the book I've been reading, called "Poisons Without Antidotes: A Guide to the Silent Deaths." It's not large, due to the small number of incurable poisons, and the recipes are hideously difficult.

  
  


I love it. It was one of Lucius's more thoughtful gifts.

  
  


I've just settled down to read my book when I hear a noise in the basement. Damn, she's got him already.

  
  


I walk down the stairs quite casually, only to be snapped at by my wife:

  
  


"Go get your cauldron and supplies! And bring a sharp knife!"

  
  


Oh. So she wanted me to make another of the Blood Poisons.

  
  


I go back up the stairs and retrieve what I need, as well as a vial of antidote in case she wants to keep him alive longer. Upon returning downstairs, I see that she's disarmed the man and tied him to a chair. The man is well built and probably as tall as I am. He' s got a sack over his head as well, which is what he usually agree on for torture victims. It means I can take off my mask to brew the potions we use, and it's also more intimidating to the victim.

  
  


I levitate the cauldron and set up a blue flame underneath, then begin adding ingredients, mostly illegal. I hate to waste things, so I've brought down the smallest one I have, which I can hold in one hand. Hard to stir, but oh well.

  
  


It takes about twenty minutes to make the base for the potion, during which the man, undoubtedly another Auror, makes no sound at all. It becomes a bit unnerving after a while.

  
  


My wife is used to watching me, and a moment before I say it's ready, she speaks. "Give me the knife," she says. I hand it to her and watch as she delicately places the tip of the blade on the Auror's left wrist. She's waiting for him to beg, I know it, and I watch with some interest. He says nothing.

  
  


"Well, it looks like we have the upper hand, Muggle-lover. Aren't you going to beg me for your life?"

  
  


Nothing.

  
  


"Say something!"

  
  


Nothing.

  
  


"Fine then." In two swift motions she slits the man's wrists, and his blood begins to pool on the stone floor.

  
  


He remains silent. She remains still. We wait, and wait, until the man's head begins to droop backward from the blood loss. She then collects the blood she needs and stops the bleeding.

  
  


I finish the potion and carry a cup of it to the man. Juliette holds her hand up to stop me and says to the man quite clearly, "If you cooperate, we will Obliviate you and give you the antidote. Otherwise, you will die." She steps out of the way and I wave my wand at the man.

  
  


"Imperio."

  
  


Juliette lifts the bottom of the sack on his head and holds the cup to his lips. I make him swallow it, and then release the curse.

  
  


Juliette then removes the sack from his head.

  
  


Oh, dear, merciful gods.

  
  


The man has very short, red hair and a red moustache. His eyes are dark brown, and he has a birthmark on the left side of his face. He stares directly at me with a look of the purest surprise, betrayal and disappointment that I've ever seen.

  
  


His name is Soren Anderson. A former Slytherin. Now an Auror.

  
  


I know him.

  
  


My name is the first thing he speaks. His voice is already laced with pain.

  
  


I know I'm standing with my mouth open, being useless. But somehow I can't bring myself to begin asking questions. Why would a pure-blooded wizard become a Muggle-lover?

  
  


Somewhere in the back of my mind, another voice asks, "Why would a pure-blooded wizard kill another?"

  
  


I' m useless. Juliette pushes me aside and begins her interrogation. I watch from a few feet away as he fights the pain and loses, screaming as the poison starts to break down muscle, bone, nerve, and connective tissue.

  
  


She gets her answers by dangling the vial of phosphorescent antidote in front of him. He gasps as he tells her the spells used to protect the Ministry buildings in London, the spells used to protect the Aurors in their homes, and even some of the wards used on Hogwarts to prevent Death Eaters from entering. Juliette's overachieving.

  
  


Satisfied, she walks over to where I stand.

  
  


"You've done well. Your antidote." Juliette hurls the bottle at the floor, leaving a glowing splatter on the stone.

  
  


"No," Soren gasps, his voice spluttering. I know this stage. He' s bleeding from his nose now, and I can see red streaks coming from his ears as well. His eyes seem to have lost the ability to move and stare relentlessly at me.

  
  


Juliette is watching his suffering with interest.

  
  


I' m trying desperately to regain the cold, unfeeling facade that I usually show to our victims, but as I open my mouth to say something cutting, the vision of this man as a boy comes to mind. He is cheering for Slytherin at a Quidditch match, and I am sitting two rows behind him. It had been my first time to a school game.

  
  


Soren's coughing violently, and his lips are stained red. He's dying. I feel paralyzed.

  
  


"Severus... how could you? You took-" He's interrupted by a fit of bloody coughs. "The wrong path." His head falls forward in exhaustion: he lost the strength to scream ten minutes ago.

  
  


I would have been more puzzled by his cryptic remark if Juliette hadn't spoken up at that moment.

  
  


"You know this bastard, Severus?"

  
  


I gather my wits. "He's just someone who went to school with me. I'm surprised he remembered my name." The end of my sentence is punctuated by silence. Soren's stopped breathing.

  
  


Juliette places a finger on his bloodied neck. I suppose she finds what she wants, for she reaches into a pocket and removes an object wrapped in cloth. Carefully, she opens the cloth, not touching the pebble inside, and presses Soren's finger to the Portkey. He's gone, presumably to the Ministry.

  
  


I'm not feeling well. I mutter an excuse to my wife and start up the basement stairs.

  
  


**A/N**: Please review, now that ff.net seems to be working alright! 


	2. Part 2/3

**Summary:** It's 1980, and Severus Snape is enjoying life as a Death Eater. Little does he know that the world of lies he lives in is about to come crashing down upon him. Part two: Severus realizes his mistakes, with drastic consequences.

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

The Furnace

By K. Cloak

Part 2 of 3

_slag: [noun] 1. The dross, or recrement, of a metal_

I climb the stairs from the basement with a grace I certainly do not feel, making no sound as I step through the doorway and into the hall. I call out to her in an uninterested tone:

"I'm taking a shower." A bit unusual for me to take a shower voluntarily, but I don't really care.

Something's wrong.

I sweep up the stairs and into the bathroom. I lock the door. I charm the door. Then I ward the room, and put up a silencing spell. 

There. I need not pretend to be composed any more. 

My wand's fallen to the floor, but I take no notice. My attention's focused on the pale, shaking man in the mirror. 

I'm feeling… weak. Dizzy, fuzzy, not all here. I wonder briefly if I inhaled any toxic fumes downstairs.

The man in the mirror stares back at me. I look at him. Pale-faced, with skin both sweaty and greasy from the cauldron's steam. Hair a mess, unkempt, greasy as well. 

What fascinates me the most about this sad portrait of myself is the streak of blood across my forehead, where I'd brushed the hair out of my face earlier. It's Soren's blood. 

I reach a hand up to touch the red streak… the blood hasn't dried and it makes my fingertips red as well. 

My sanity is a house, with me at the center. Something is pounding on the walls.

The house is shaking. I must be going mad.

I run my left had through my mess of black hair and spin away from the mirror, pacing to the other end of the room. Upon retracing that path, I find that my boots have left bloody tracks along the tile. 

The house is shaking.

I feel dirty. The man in the mirror is looking hollowed out, as if he's just lost an important part of himself. His face suddenly changes to that of a young man wearing a silver and gray scarf, black eyes narrowed at me in an accusing scowl. He looks about fifteen. 

His face changes again; he's now a red-haired young man, wearing the same scarf and the same scowl. He holds up his slit wrists in accusation, then lets out an unintelligible shout of rage, banging his fists at the glass between us.

I jump backward, away from the hallucinatory image of young Soren Anderson. I must be losing my mind.

I've lost my confidence. The invisible hand that pounds on the edges of my sanity acquires a voice.

"You're wrong."

I look down at the robes I'm wearing. Black, shiny, Death Eater's robes. I tear them off, throwing them in a heap near the door. I remove the bloody boots, my plain trousers, gray shirt, and underwear, and make a veritable leap for the shower. 

The left knob is the only one I turn. In seconds I'm drenched in a gale of freezing water, gasping in shock. Good. I need to wake up from this nightmare.

The water becomes tepid, then warm. Now it's hot, and now scalding. I feel like my skin is going to come off in a sheet. Good. I scrub myself with the awful rough sponge of my wife's until my skin becomes the color of a cooked lobster. 

I knew Soren, of course. Everyone in Slytherin knew him. He graduated as Head Boy when I was fifteen. 

My first morning as a first-year at Hogwarts, he had helped me find Transfiguration class before heading off to his own.

Of course, I never was a social person. He'd been a friend to me during my first year, but after that I'd made friends with Lucius, and had stopped associating with him. We'd talked at Quidditch games and occasionally saw each other in the library, but that was where our acquaintanceship ended. I chose to use my ambition for power over others, while he used his to gain the power to help others. I was too good for him. 

Perhaps my eventual haughty attitude toward him had been the cause of my great surprise when he'd pulled me aside before his graduation.  

"I know we haven't really talked before, Severus," he'd said, "but I'll be leaving in a few days, and I might never see you again." 

I'd snorted at him. "If you go to join the Gryffindors at the Aurors' Academy, then you most definitely will never see me again." 

"Shut up, Severus. Look, I know your… friends… don't like me, but you used to. Just remember that before you were their friend, before you were even a Slytherin, you were Severus Snape. Be true to yourself! Too many of us take the wrong path to greatness… make sure you know which one you're on."

I'd forgotten his words until today. But now they scream at me from within my own skull as I envision him as a man, bound to a chair and bleeding, his face radiating betrayal and bitterness as I watch him die and do nothing to save him.

I see a Muggle woman, cradling her young wizard son. She had died because of me. The quieter Death Eater attack was to simply poison those who would pollute the gene pool. The boy had died first. What had he done, besides want to live?

I see the three Aurors who'd died at Malfoy's house last night ago. What had they done, besides want to preserve life?

And what of Soren? He'd died at my hands. No matter how much Juliette had contributed, I'd done nothing to save him. I'd cast Imperius on him, and I'd made him drink the poison that I'd brewed.

I'd taken the wrong path. 

"No."

The house is shaking. 

I'd taken the wrong path, and I'd known it.

"No…"

The force of my guilt is crushing what bit of sanity I have left. I am kneeling, face in hands. I don't recognize the voice as my own.

Purity of blood, intelligence, power. All great things. But not as great as life itself.

"No!" I am shouting now. 

I'd taken the wrong path. The path of darkness, violence and death, all in the name of power. I am great, and terrible as well.

"NO!" I dig my fingernails into my scalp and scream the word, dragging my fingers past my forehead, cheeks, and chin. Once my hands are relieved of a job, I pound them on the unyielding stone, bruising them, putting hairline cracks in the bones, damaging what I've taken so much pride in.

The walls of denial and arrogance and intellect and false confidence that have supported me for the past three years come crashing down on me, and I lose myself completely in the tide of rubble that cascades around what's left of Severus Snape. For what seems like ages, I'm lost in a world of despair, regret and pain, unaware of anything but the atrocities that are exhumed from my memory and paraded in front of my eyes like grotesque marionettes. I see every step I took, every wrong turn I made to become the man I am today. I see the faces of every wizard, witch and Muggle who died at my hands, and each one laughs at me as I drown in the pool of blood I created.

---

How long am I lost? 

The real world comes back to me slowly. I'm still on my knees in the shower, bowed over, my forehead on the cold stone.

The water is icy. I'm freezing.

I open my eyes slowly to take in the unchanged room. My eyes feel stiff, like they cannot open any further than a half-squint.

I sit back and brush my wet hair back, wincing as my hands run over the gouges in my forehead. My hands are bruised and swollen, with blood under the nails. My throat is sore from screaming that I barely remember.

I feel like the life has been drained from me.

A banging on the door brings me back a bit. 

"Severus! Hey, stupid! Did you drown?"

I turn the shower off, step out, and fumble for my wand, lowering the silencing ward. My voice is little more than a hoarse croak. 

"I'm fine!" I snap. What a lie. I don't think I'll ever be fine again.

"Well get to bed!" she says harshly. Her footsteps fade down the hall.

I look again at the man in the mirror. I have eight bloody gouges down my face. My eyes are red and swollen. My hands are purple and puffy along their outer edges. Despite how I look, I feel that I'm currently much better off then I should be.

After all, I should be dead. Isn't that much obvious? Waking up has given me a certain detached clarity. By tomorrow, I will be dead.

I lower the other wards on the room long enough to summon some clothes, then lock and ward the room once again. Once I've dressed, cleaned the cuts, and put up a reasonable glamour, I go over to the pile of robes on the floor and pull a small vial of red liquid from a hidden pocket.

The vial contains the last of a poison that I brewed two years ago. After all, it seems appropriate that I should die by the very sword I wielded.

The thought of stopping crosses my mind and is gone in as much time. I don't really feel like living, considering the fact that my entire life's been a monstrous mistake. I open the vial, drain it, and replace it in my robes.

The cramps begin immediately. I walk down the hall, fighting the urge to breathe shallowly and double over. I enter the bedroom and slip wordlessly into bed beside my wife. 

The pain is intense, but I make no sound. I hold still, not wanting to be found out and saved.

A stab of pain splinters through my skull and I nearly cry out. My will is weakening, but thankfully, so is my body.

I'm dying.

Perhaps the gods will have mercy on me.

I take a final breath and am consumed by darkness.

**Author's Note: **Don't panic! Obviously, since this is a prequel to a story in which Severus is quite alive, he isn't going to die. Stay tuned for the conclusion, and please review!


	3. Part 3/3

**Summary:** It's 1980, and Severus Snape is enjoying life as a Death Eater. Little does he know that the world of lies he lives in is about to come crashing down upon him.

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

The Furnace

By K. Cloak

Part 3 of 3

_iron: [noun] 1. (Chem.) The most common and most useful metallic element... as steel, is very tough, and (when tempered) very hard and elastic._

I return to consciousness ill, but alive. 

Well, "alive" in this case is a relative term. My chest and stomach feel like they are on fire, and my head is swimming in feverish circles. I raise my hands to my aching head, trying to block out the painfully bright rays of the morning sun. 

How in hell have I survived the night?

Last night… 

Last night… is a blur of nightmarish images. The mirror… my bloody hands… icy water… and death. My wish for death has survived along with me.

My eyes still closed, breathing in shallow gasps, I try to think why the poison didn't kill me, when I'm suddenly greeted with the sound of the bedroom door slamming open.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Severus? You've been lying there for a goddamn hour! You'll be late!" I open my watery eyes a crack to take in the sight of my wife striding forward in her Ministry work robes, looking annoyed.

I try to speak to her in a normal voice, but only manage to groan out a single word:

"Sick."

I close my eyes again, lying like a rag doll in our bed. What will undoubtedly be my final sleep is fast consuming me, and I welcome it. I don't care what she does with my corpse.

Sleep flees as Juliette hauls to my feet and holds me against the wall. She looks up at me scientifically, as if I were some kind of specimen. I suppose, by some stroke of bizarre luck, that the glamours I cast have remained in place overnight, because she makes no mention of the cuts on my face. 

"Hmm… well, you do seem ill. Very well then, I'll inform the necessary people of your impending absence. You can take today to start on that Polyjuice Potion the Dark Lord wants you to make." I can barely stand, even with her support, but concern doesn't even begin to pollute the cold practicality of her statement.

Wait…

"How did you know…" I manage to croak. She lets go of me and I pitch forward, ending up in an uncomfortable pile on the floor. 

Juliette makes her way to the doorway before turning around with a click of her perfectly polished boots. She laughs in a cold way.

"Why else would you have in your possession exactly four of Albus Dumbledore's hairs?" She spins and exits before I have a chance to reply or ask how she knows to whom the hairs belong.

Albus Dumbledore…

The only man whom Voldemort ever feared.

Thoughts and images begin whirling in my mind: thanks to last night, Juliette knows some of the wards on Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Someone is going to be impersonating Dumbledore, which means they will probably use the disguise to get into the school. I can only imagine what will happen to the children.

If I die, Juliette or another Death Eater will make the potion in my place. 

If I live…

Suddenly living becomes an option again. If I live, perhaps I can warn the man first. 

As I pull myself to my knees, another wave of dizziness passes over me. This time I fight it. I need to survive, at least for long enough to warn the Headmaster of Hogwarts. After that, he can send me to Azkaban or kill me. If, by some bizarre stroke of luck, he lets me go, I'll kill myself.

I begin to crawl toward the door. 

---

In my semi-delirious state, it takes me nearly ten minutes to drag myself to my workroom. I am still dying, after all. 

I push the door open to find that Juliette has "straightened up" again, leaving every work surface bare. I summon all of my waning strength and pull myself to my feet, opening one of my smaller supply cabinets. I catch a glimpse of my hands as I do so: the glamour is flickering, failing. 

Disorientation. What am I doing…? 

Oh. Yes. I have no antidote to the poison on hand, but… I reach onto the top shelf and pick up what seems to be a small, black marble. A bezoar. 

I drag myself to another cabinet, pulling out a small cauldron and adding a cup or so of water. It takes me three tries to light a fire underneath, but soon the tiny amount of water is bubbling. I drop the stone in and it instantly dissolves, turning the water the color of ink. I turn off the flame and cast a quick cooling charm, then dump the black potion into a cup and drink it. 

I feel dizzier now, after standing so long. I take a seat and wait for the potion to take effect. My vision begins to go black around the edges, and I lean forward, resting my forehead on my knees…

I'm lying on the floor in my workroom. I must have fainted.

I sit up tentatively and find that I feel not a bit better. My head is still pounding and I still feel like I'm going to be sick. A bezoar will indeed save you from most poisons, however it doesn't do much more than bring you back from the brink of death. All of the nasty side effects linger.

I have the strength now to stand up and shakily make my way back to the bedroom. Inside, I re-cast my glamours and put on some decent clothes. I take a deep breath, visualize the streets of Hogsmeade Village, and Apparate.

---

It was almost two years ago that I last walked the path that connected Hogwarts Castle and Hogsmeade Village. It's nearly noon, and students stream past me in the opposite direction, heading toward an afternoon filled with laughter and practical jokes.

What nonsense. 

I walk with a long stride that is terribly difficult to maintain due to the poison's aftereffects. I recognize a few of the older students and avoid eye contact, marching forward with a very unpleasant expression on my face. 

A seventh-year Slytherin calls out, "Hello there, Severus!" I grunt in his direction and continue on my way, seeing the tallest turrets of the castle coming into view from behind the next hill.

Albus Dumbledore… 

I have every right to hate the old man. I haven't talked to him in over three years, ever since he threatened to have me expelled from the school if I so much as breathed a word of Lupin's lycanthropy to anyone. The nerve of that old bastard!

I sigh as I approach the entrance to the castle. I'm sure the only person Albus Dumbledore ever killed was Grindelwald. I have far more, and far more innocent, blood on my hands. Who am I kidding? I have no right to judge anyone.

---

I find myself at the entrance to Dumbledore's office, staring stupidly at the gargoyle as I try to come up with the password. My headache has done nothing to improve my mood. I just want to get out of here, go home, curl up in a corner, and die. It's really too bad the Killing Curse is ineffective against the caster.

I continue my interrogation of the gargoyle

"Lemon drop?" Nothing.

"Chocolate frog?" Nothing.

I'm getting annoyed. I've been here for five minutes spouting candy names like an idiot.

"Bertie Bott's Every _fucking_ Flavor Beans!?" The gargoyle stands there in silence. I resist the urge to take a swing at the damn thing, remembering last night's run-in with a hard, unyielding inanimate object. 

This is ridiculous. 

I spin around at the sound of footsteps to be greeted by a woman I'd hoped never to see again: Professor MacGonagall, torturer of Slytherins, coddler of Gryffindors, and teacher of both the most ridiculously difficult and useless magical subject ever invented: transfigurations. 

"Mister Snape… to what do we owe this visit?" She is a ramrod-straight vision of stern disinterest, whereas I'm not sure whether I look more furious or desperate. 

"I need to see the Headmaster at once," I snap at her, crossing my arms. Already she's made me feel half my age.

"I'm afraid he is busy at the-"

"I assure you this is a matter of some importance," I say, trying not to seem as desperate as I am. The school is making me feel decidedly uncomfortable, and I am breathing faster than I should be. I suppose she senses some of my discomfort, because she gives in.

"Very well, then. The password is "Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean." 

I can't help myself. "I _tried_ that one already!" I practically whine.

MacGonagall looks at me with… is that a _smirk?_ "Try it in the singular, and without the interjected profanity, Mister Snape." With that she is gone, trailing a veritable cloud of Gryffindor self-righteousness. 

I snarl the words at the gargoyle and make my way up the stairs. 

---

I enter the office, wheezing, to be greeted by silence. Taking a look around, I see that the only life in the room besides myself is a baby phoenix in a cage. 

The nagging discomfort that's been present since I've arrived here intensifies, and I take a seat in the extra chair, trying to catch my breath. The baby phoenix watches me as I struggle to breathe.

The door opens to reveal the never-changing form of Albus Dumbledore, complete with pointed hat. He steps into the office and takes a seat behind the desk, the ever-present twinkle in his eye missing. 

I'm gasping for air now, feeling as if there were an invisible person choking me. I put my own hands up to my neck to try and remove the attacker, but all I feel is my own skin. I double over in the chair, still trying vainly to get some air.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Dumbledore wave a hand, and the feeling vanishes. I sit up and look at him, hoping to seem aggressive and confident, but the moment my eyes meet his, the attitude I've built up on the way here crumbles. I lower my eyes and put my face in my hands.

He is the first to speak.

"It's a Strangling Hex, Severus. It's one of the wards designed to incapacitate any Death Eater who enters the school."

So he knows. Moving slowly, I draw my wand and place it on the desk, handle toward him. I resume staring at the floor.

"I have something to tell you, Headmaster. Then you can do whatever you want with me."

He is silent for a moment. 

"You are using a glamour, Severus. I don't appreciate deception." His voice is every bit as strict as MacGonagall's at her worst.

My voice is scratchy. "I would prefer to leave it up."

"I'm going to have to insist that you allow me to remove the spell."

"Very well," I mutter. With my head bowed this way, my hair falling forward over my eyes, it is nearly impossible to see my face anyway.

"_Vergo tectum!_" I feel nothing more than a gentle breeze, but as it passes over me, I feel the scabs on my face solidify under my fingers.

"Look at me," Dumbledore says. Reluctantly, I raise my head to once again meet his eyes. There is steel behind their sky-blue as he takes in what must be a pretty pathetic sight: this thin, pale man with greasy hair, red scratches down his forehead, circles under his eyes, and purple discoloration around the outsides of his hands.

He pulls a vial from his hand and sets it down before me: the liquid inside is completely clear.

"I hope you'll understand the necessity of this," he says as I reach for the Veritaserum. I do, and I drain the vial to prove it. I sit in the chair, still looking forward, awaiting his questions.

His first question surprises me.

"What happened to you to make you look like this?"

The answers come as if someone else were saying them, leaving me no control over my words. "I tried to kill myself last night."

"Why?"

"Because I've made a huge mistake of my life. I deserve to die for what I did to other people."

"Are you a Death Eater, Severus?" 

"Yes."

"What crimes are you guilty of committing?"

I don't want to tell him. I bite my lip, trying to keep the words of my involuntary confession from coming to life. I don't want to announce what a monster I am.

However, after struggling for a pathetic ten seconds, I can no longer keep silent. 

"I've used the Imperius Curse countless times, I've cast the Cruciatus as well. I've brewed illegal potions, both poisons and drugs for the other Death Eaters. I've used Blood Potions with Dark intent, and to kill. I've helped to kill Muggles, with weapons magical and Muggle, and I've taken illegal potions for strengthening my magic."

Dumbledore looks angry, angrier than I've ever seen him. Briefly, I wonder if he's going to kill me out of sheer fury.

"Tell me why you came here." His words are cold, quick and perfectly enunciated. 

Veritaserum is a whole-truth potion, meaning that it is impossible for the drinker to omit any information that they deem important. It often makes for long speeches.

"Last night I was given a vial of hairs with which to make a Polyjuice Potion. I didn't know whose they were at the time. I went home, where my wife and I tortured Soren Anderson, and Auror, for information about the Ministry's protective wards."

Oh gods, I wish I could stop talking. I don't want to relive last night. 

"It was my poison that killed him. After he was dead, Juliette – my wife – used a Portkey to send his body back to the Ministry. I went upstairs and… I don't really remember all that happened, except that I realized I was a horrible person, a murderer, and that I'd killed a former Housemate. I – I remembered Soren's trying to talk me out of becoming a Death Eater in the first place. I guess I lost my mind for a while, and when I came back I decided to poison myself. It didn't work as quickly as it should have, and I woke up this morning. I was still dying. Juliette told me then that the hairs inside the vial were yours, and I realized that I had to tell you about the plan to impersonate you. I cured the poison and came here."

My face is burning in shame, but I feel like my eyes are locked to the old man's. His face, however, has softened just a bit.

"Did you come here solely to help the Light side, Mister Snape?"

"Yes." 

"Do you still feel allegiance to the Dark?"

"No," I nearly whisper.

"Do you regret your actions as a Death Eater?"

"Yes." Oh, gods, I regret them. I wish I could just die right now.

"What do you want, more than anything else, Mister Snape?"

The answer comes to my lips before I can even think what it could be.

"I want them back." My voice is a choked whisper, and my chest feels heavy. My eyes are stinging. Oh, shit. I am going to cry like a child in front of one of the most powerful people on the planet. I can't fight the Veritaserum, however, and apparently it wants me to go on.

"I want-" my voice cracks – "Every person, who ever died because of me, to come back." I lean forward and put my hot face in my hands as the first tears burn down my cheeks. I don't know what's the stronger emotion: embarrassment or misery.

Apparently, misery has control, because I can't stop talking. "Gods, I'm a horrible person! I'm a monster! I deserve nothing less than damnation and eternal fire for this!" I can't help it: my voice has raised an octave in pitch and I'm sobbing into my lap like an overgrown child. I haven't cried in years, not since I was nearly killed in sixth year, and even then I had waited until I could lock myself, all alone, into the prefects' bathroom. This is much worse.

The room is silent for a good few minutes except for the sound of me making an ass of my pathetic self. Finally, I calm down enough to cry silently, and I hear Dumbledore shuffling around in his desk. He walks around the desk, scraping a chair from the corner and pulling it next to mine. He rotates my seat ninety degrees with a wave of his hand, then presses a handkerchief into one of my bruised hands and takes a seat, his knees mere inches from mine.

I wipe my face, but don't raise it. I feel awful, and my chest feels like it's going to explode. Dumbledore takes a breath, then speaks.

"Do you still want to die, Severus?" His voice has softened as well.

"Yes," I answer.

"Then I want you to make a promise to me."

A promise made under Veritaserum cannot be broken. Since the drinker cannot tell a lie, the promise he or she makes must remain true. 

I finally lift my head, looking at Dumbledore with a mix of confusion, suspicion, and pain.

"What is it?" I whisper.

"Promise me you will not take your own life, Severus Snape."

"I don't want to make that promise." I lower my head again. The damn stupid tears are still leaking out, although at a slower rate.

He sighs, then reaches out and tilts my face up with a finger under my chin.

"Let me tell you something, Mister Snape. I always had hopes that you would turn away from the Dark. I always knew, even if you didn't realize it, that you had a lot of good in you. I admit, I never did enough to foster that good side, and I am truly sorry. But you can do good now, Severus. You can help us in the fight against Voldemort. If you die, then Soren's death will have been in vain. If you live, you can do something to help." 

He pauses.

"Do you want to help?"

"Yes."

He is silent for a moment, apparently thinking. 

"Severus, you probably don't know this, but there is an intense effort going on right now, outside of the Ministry, to fight Voldemort. I lead that effort.

"We have tried, unsuccessfully, for the past three years, to get a spy within the ranks of the Death Eaters. You, however, present us with a unique opportunity. If you are willing.

"Will you become a spy within the ranks of the Death Eaters, putting your own life at risk, to help us?" He's gambling on me right now. This is a lot to ask.

Right now, I don't value my life very much.

"I will."

I suppose I owe a lot to the world. Perhaps, just this once, I can do something right. 

"Then promise me you will not take your own life."

I wipe the last of the tears from my face, and look straight into Dumbledore's eyes, my red and black peering into his blue and white. 

"I promise, I will not take my own life." If I die now, it will most likely be at the hands of my former master.

I stand, and he follows suit. 

I feel cold with apprehension. I've never had anyone rely on my like this before.

"Will I be able to do this, Professor Dumbledore? I… I've never been a very good man."

Finally, the twinkle is back in Dumbledore's eye.

"I have the utmost faith in you, Severus. After all, you can't lie!" He chuckles softly. "And call me Albus, please." He reaches to the desk and grabs my wand, then hands it back to me. I take it, and turn away from him, towards the door.

"I suppose I'll be coming back in a few days," I say. I take hold of the doorknob, but do not leave the office.

"I'm scared, Albus." Damn the Veritaserum. I really am scared, scared of the future I've just committed myself to, scared of what I was, am, and may someday be. 

I hear footsteps behind me, and a surprisingly strong hand is placed on my upper arm. He turns me around, then places his hands on my shoulders, holding me at arms' length.

"It will be all right in the end. Good luck, Severus."

I take a final look around the room, my eyes coming to rest on Dumbledore's phoenix. It must have been reborn in the last 24 hours, to be so small. 

In the last 24 hours, I think a part of me has been reborn as well, and a part has died forever. I feel like I've been through a blast furnace, and only part of me has survived the process.

I nod my farewell to the old man, and open the door. 

----- End -----

**Author's Final Notes: **First off: It's done! Last chapter! So please, please tell me what you thought!

I hope everyone who read this liked it! I would like to send a big thank-you to insidebroomcloset, nsngrl, drea, and Drella for reviewing the first two chapters.

This story is a prequel to "Up From The Dust," which it written through chapter 6. If you want to read that, the address is http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=706481

Finally, I apologize to any readers who actually know Latin for what is undoubtedly a poor use of the language. (My glamour-removing spell, that is.)

**New Thank-Yous: **Thanks a bunch to Pyramidal-Apollo, Didodiva, sweetnez005, and Drella (again!) for your reviews!!


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